


All the ways Ian says 'I love you' _ n.4

by Follevolo



Series: All the ways Ian says 'I love you' [4]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Gallavich, M/M, Therapy, ianxmickey - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-01
Updated: 2014-05-01
Packaged: 2018-01-21 13:45:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1552550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Follevolo/pseuds/Follevolo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>- Emma, my therapist. She suggested I should talk to you about… about what I talk to her. – Ian was clearly struggling to take out the words. Mickey was painfully surprised by how difficult it appeared to talk to him about his inner demons. They had never been much into chit-chat, they were more a bang-to-say-i-love-you-and-punch-to-say-i-hate-you kind of couple, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t there for him when he needed, and he thought he had made a point about it in the last months.  </p>
<p>- Ian. I know we don’t talk about fucking feelings and rainbows and shit, but since it’s for your own health, I think we can make a fucking exception, uh? Here. Take a cigarette and shoot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the ways Ian says 'I love you' _ n.4

It had been a few weeks since the last depressive phase; Ian was on his meds now, and he was seeing a therapist for one hour every day. Mickey expected him to fight the idea with all his strength, but apparently Ian didn’t mind going to therapy at all: surprisingly enough, it seemed like he quite enjoyed it.

Mickey would never admit it, but he was secretly pissed off about it: every time Ian came back from that place he was evidently more relaxed, calmer, like a huge burden was taken off his shoulders. He smiled more, joked more, he was even hornier. He was more and more like his old self, and that were all things Mickey should have been infinitely grateful about… But it wasn’t him who was doing the magic, and after all his efforts, all his sacrifices and all his love, he couldn’t really stand that what actually did the miracle happen was a perfect stranger. What did they talk about, anyway? What were this things Ian would tell to this… this shrink, and not to him?

He never asked about it, obviously.

\- Mick? – Ian looked at him with a strangely shy expression Mickey hadn’t seen on his face probably since year one of their relationship. It was nice to see there was still that cute freckled boy somewhere under all that muscles and big shoulders; Mickey bit his bottom lip to hide a smile.

\- Yeah.

\- I wanted to talk to you, about… well… therapy.

Mickey raised an eyebrow.

\- What about it?

\- Emma, my therapist. She suggested I should talk to you about… about what I talk to her. – Ian was clearly struggling to take out the words. Mickey was painfully surprised by how difficult it appeared to talk to him about his inner demons. They had never been much into chit-chat, they were more a bang-to-say-i-love-you-and-punch-to-say-i-hate-you kind of couple, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t there for him when he needed, and he thought he had made a point about it in the last months. 

\- Ian. I know we don’t talk about fucking feelings and rainbows and shit, but since it’s for your own health, I think we can make a fucking exception, uh? Here. Take a cigarette and shoot.

Ian sighed, but looked at Mickey with new determination. His blue eyes were shining with concern, and in his gaze Ian found the strength he needed.

\- Okay. Don’t panic, uh? Cos this is gonna be tough. – Mickey nodded, and Ian swallowed hard before continuing – Well. Okay. I suppose I should start by saying… That… I’m in love with you?

Mickey was paralyzed, his face white and steady like marble.

Well. That was not what he thought Ian talked about during therapy.

Ian started walking up and down their bedroom, not looking at Mickey anymore. He was gesticulating and babbling fast, so fast Mickey was having and hard time following him, the shock still freezing his brain. But Ian’s mouth was doing his own thing, probably against Ian’s own will, and Mickey realized that he would never get that occasion again. It was a window opened into Ian and for the life of him Mickey couldn’t help but stare right into him. 

\- … Since, mhm, since forever. Since when you got shot by Kash, probably, or even before… I don’t know. The fact is that I was little, and you were the first actual relationship I ever had with someone my own age that I could actually define something similar to a boyfriend, you know? Cos Kash was married and old and gross and I wasn’t really in love with him. So years passed and I was more and more into you and it seemed at some point that you were in it too, uh? But then Terry arrived and it all went to hell. It broke me. I wanted you so bad, I wanted to have all of you, not only sex, I wanted romance, and kisses, and dates and Valentines and all that faggy fluffy stupid idiotic shit. And I knew I was never going to have that. If I stayed. I would have been a fucking mistress again, like I was with Kash, and I couldn’t do it with you. I loved you too much to share you. So I left…

Mickey was quietly drowning in the memories of that day. They were in that room. They probably had in their hearts the same feelings they had now. But they just couldn’t quite reach each other yet. And suddenly, Mickey understood why Ian needed to take that all out. Cos they had it hidden secretly inside for so long, and it was such a painful burden, that cancer eating their brain with all kind of mean questions, that it was about time they took the courage to address it.

Would he have stayed if I told him to stay, would he have been good if I told him not to go? Would we have been happy?

Would he have bipolar disorder?

He didn’t even notice Ian has been quiet for a while. Mickey raised his eyes to find him crying silently, staring at him from the other side of the room. Instantly, he reached out and hugged him, caressing his hair and kissing his neck lightly.

\- I missed you… so.. fucking… much – Ian was sobbing uncontrollably in his t-shirt – I couldn’t function without you. I was unfocused and strange. I laughed when there was nothing to laugh about and any time something reminded me of you, which was basically every fucking five minutes, I burst crying and it was fucking pathetic and embarrassing and weak and all the other guys looked at me weird and nobody talked to me and then I kind of went out of it completely and… I lost it… I completely lost it but the only thing that was keeping me going was that I had to find a way to come back to you, to get closer to you, to… wait long enough for you to come around and save me.

Mickey rubbed his nose against Ian’s, trying to ease up the tension with a little smile.

\- I’m gonna show you something – he said, taking his hand and guiding him into the bathroom. He took the magazine behind the toilet and put it into Ian’s hands. He looked at it, confused, eyes still puffy and wet from the early cry – Open it.

The picture was still there.

\- I missed you too, a lot. And if I could go back, and fight for you, and tell you to stay… I would. I don’t know if you would… if you would be like this if I did that. I ask this myself every fucking day. You need to know that everything I did since I put my foot into that night club… I did it just for you. I knew I loved you the minute you left. And I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you. I will never let you leave me again…

Ian was staring at the picture, a little adorable smile on his face. He couldn’t quite believe it. But when he raised his gaze at Mickey again, taking Mickey’s face in his big hands, he looked deadly serious.

\- It’s not your fault if I’m like this. Ok? Don’t you dare think about it. I’ve always been like this. It’s genetic. And it’s not your fault if I left. It was Terry’s fault. I blamed you… I blamed you long enough, and you blamed yourself long enough. That’s why the therapist wanted me to talk to you about it. Now, we are done with the past, ok?

We can start clean from here. I love you. That’s all I need to keep fighting. That’s all I need to fucking win.


End file.
